[ Don't fold, Iorveth'd told himself, but he's paper when Astarion leans. His thumb brushes along the jut of Astarion's cheekbone, tracing the rise of it up to his temple to draw circles there, massaging out tension. ]
Hm. [ Light, airy. Not the kind of tone one would normally use when discussing the brutal slaughtering of a faceless stranger, but Iorveth will be Iorveth. ] He was correct to be.
[ As much as he treats Astarion like an oversized cat who deserves his cute aggression, he doesn't think him weak or powerless; the opposite, really. A shrewd, fickle thing who would kill rather than be harmed: it's always the ones who know what it feels like to have been backed into corners who are the most dangerous in a pinch. Not something to be lauded, perhaps, but Iorveth is in love with that tenacity. The thing he'd been drawn to most, initially. ]
...I had no reason to be precious about your feeding, then. [ Another slow drag of his thumb across Astarion's cheek. ]
no subject
Hm. [ Light, airy. Not the kind of tone one would normally use when discussing the brutal slaughtering of a faceless stranger, but Iorveth will be Iorveth. ] He was correct to be.
[ As much as he treats Astarion like an oversized cat who deserves his cute aggression, he doesn't think him weak or powerless; the opposite, really. A shrewd, fickle thing who would kill rather than be harmed: it's always the ones who know what it feels like to have been backed into corners who are the most dangerous in a pinch. Not something to be lauded, perhaps, but Iorveth is in love with that tenacity. The thing he'd been drawn to most, initially. ]
...I had no reason to be precious about your feeding, then. [ Another slow drag of his thumb across Astarion's cheek. ]